


Hello, Hole, My Old Friend

by songofhell



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Wing Grooming, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofhell/pseuds/songofhell
Summary: Crowley seems to be unable to stop digging himself into a hole. And he's not entirely sure how that led to him grooming Aziraphale's wings, but as far as holes go, this one is actually pretty comfortable. Because feathers are, by nature, rather comfortable, of course - not because he has a crush on the angel beneath his hands. Of course not.I had a request for Crowley grooming Aziraphale's wings, so here you have it.





	

Crowley barely glanced at the ‘closed’ sign as he opened the door, willing it to become unlocked.

“Angel?” he called, glancing around the dim bookshop, locking the door behind him with a stray thought and the slight wave of his hand.

He was already making his way to the back room when the voice of an angel clearly caught off guard echoed out from it. “Er… one minute, my dear!”

Crowley paused with a frown. Aziraphale usually never had a problem with him dropping by, especially since he never tried to buy any books. So, why would he be so flustered? Unless… Crowley had caught him in an embarrassing position. A snake-like smile spread over Crowley’s face. After all, what demon could pass up the opportunity to see an angel embarrassed? He continued to the back room more quietly now, so as not to bring attention to his presence.

Aziraphale was sitting on that awful, tartan couch of his, hastily wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. He was shirtless, but that was just a minor surprise that hardly merited mentioning when it was coupled with the wings spread out behind him. _Oh._

The only time Crowley had seen the angel’s wings was during the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and at the time there had been so much going on that he hadn’t gotten a good look at them. They were an utter mess. Which, under normal circumstances, was something that he would chide Aziraphale for, but he had just walked in on him _grooming. **[1]**_

Crowley could feel the blush creeping up his neck, and was not at all appreciative of the irony that in attempting to embarrass Aziraphale, he had actually embarrassed himself. He tried to back out of the room as quickly and quietly as he had entered, but apparently, he had pivoted slightly, and instead of finding an open doorway behind him, he found a very solid, very hard wall that made a very loud noise when he connected with it very painfully.

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped up and locked on the beat-red demon, the color of his cheeks immediately changing to match.[2] “Crowley!” he spluttered. “I-I thought you were waiting out front.”

“I was!” Crowley rubbed the back of his head, willing the impending knot not to form with a small part of his mind, while the rest searched desperately for a way to dig himself out of his embarrassment. “I just… wanted to see if you needed a hand.” _Oh yes, great save, Crowley. See how much deeper you can dig the hole, why don’t you?_ He very much wanted to turn into a snake and hide in said hole.

Aziraphale frowned. “You knew I was grooming my wings?”

“Well, what else would you be doing?” he babbled. “You were shut up back here, and you had that wing-grooming-flustered voice, and…” Now he was very strongly considering turning into a snake and slithering off somewhere where he could hide for the next couple centuries. _Come on, Crowley, there has to be a ladder out of this hole somewhere. Think suave, think cool._ “Quite frankly, angel, I have never seen a worse pair of wings, and I don’t trust your ability to groom them yourself.” _Ha! There we go!_ Except for the fact that he was still offering to groom Aziraphale’s wings, and there was no way that he would agree to _that._

Aziraphale regarded him thoughtfully. “Alright,” he finally agreed.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he repeated matter-of-factly. He turned around, bracing himself against the armrest as he offered his wing up to Crowley.

The demon swallowed thickly as he looked at the wings spread out before him; they were beautiful, even in their complete disarray. The coverts were a radiant white that faded to a light grey in the short secondaries and the longer primaries that were now reaching out to the sides, coming to a soft point at the ends. Crowley just stood there and stared for a good few seconds before he realized that Aziraphale was legitimately expecting him to groom his wings. _Now._

He took a deep breath as he discarded his jacked over a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His motions were slow, as though he was waiting for Aziraphale to say that he had changed his mind. Honestly, he didn’t know if he was waiting for that, or if he was just mentally preparing himself for the fact that he would be touching _Aziraphale’s_ wings.

He took another deep breath as he crouched on the couch behind the angel.[3] His hands were shaking slightly as he reached forward, and he paused, forcing himself to steady. The wings were the most sensitive part of an angel’s (or fallen angel’s) body, and Aziraphale would assuredly know if he was shaking while he groomed them.

One more deep breath and his fingers slid into the soft coverts, gently pulling on them to straighten them out. Aziraphale gave a contented sigh and a surge of encouragement flowed through Crowley at the sound. Alright. He could do this.

He took his time grooming, plucking any stray feathers and straightening every other to perfection, Aziraphales sighs and – G- Sa- _someone_ help – _moans,_ urging him on and making him wonder who was enjoying it more. Even after he finished, he continued running his hand through the feathers, basking in the sensation that felt – well – heavenly.

Eventually, he had to pull away, though. “There,” he sighed reverently, reaching for the cloth Aziraphale had had earlier to wipe the preening oil from his hands. “Now you have the most beautiful set of wings I have ever seen.” _Hello, hole, my old friend._ “Because of my handiwork, of course,” he amended quickly.

Aziraphale turned around with a small smile and a slight blush, and he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Crowley’s. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley blinked once. Twice.

“You really must let me return the favor some time,” he continued as if the entire universe had not just shifted to focus on his lips.

Crowley nodded numbly.

Aziraphale stood, pulling his wings back in as he pulled on a shirt that had been discarded on the floor. “Now, what did you really come here for?”

“Er…” Crowley attempted to force his thoughts back in order. “Dinner?”

The angel beamed as he offered out a hand to help him to his feet. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

Aziraphale didn’t back away after Crowley was on his feet, and the demon was very aware of just how close they were standing. His lips were just a few inches away. And had it really been possible for them to be so soft? Had it just been his imagination? There was really only one way to know. He leaned in for another kiss, and this time no one pulled away for several seconds, maybe even minutes.

“Sssssso, after dinner…?” At least Crowley had regained the ability to string words together, even if it did involve hissing.

“I picked up a new brand of wine that I would love some help drinking.”

He beamed. “Count me in.”

The two supernatural entities exited the bookshop hand-in-hand, both significantly happier than they had been that morning. That was the thing about knowing someone for six thousand-plus-years; some things didn’t have to be said in order to have a perfect understanding. In this case, angel and demon both understood that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had a crush on the other; they were, in fact, in love.

 

[1] To put it in human terms, imagine walking in on your crush in the shower (not that Crowley had a crush on Aziraphale, of course; and not that he would admit it, if he did).

[2] Now imagine, if you will, your crush walking in on _you_ in the shower (not that Aziraphale had a crush on Crowley, of course; and not that he would admit it, if he did).

[3] This is a considerable number more deep breaths than Crowley takes in a usual day, as demons have no need of oxygen, and breathing is more of a habit formed from living on Earth than a necessity.


End file.
